


Overalls

by blessedthrice



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, F/M, attack on titan - Freeform, nanamike - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedthrice/pseuds/blessedthrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she sighed another cloud of smoke up into the air, her lean body stretched against the denim, showing off the sweet dip of her low back. He wet his lips.</p><p>“Are you going to come in, Mike?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overalls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guttersharkk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guttersharkk/gifts).



> ahoy maties graphic smut ahead~

The paint fell like rain from the tip of the brush, spattering onto the plastic like blood. The brush swung down at her side, lazy and noncommittal, dangling by the end of its handle in her loose grip, accented by fingers which were long and elegant, porcelain white and with ovular nails. She stood with her hip pushed slightly out, the smooth curve of her ass straining against the tight denim of her overalls. The smoke drifted in silver streams from her cigarette, wrapping like hands around her pale throat. 

That was how he found her, gazing intently at a stretch of canvas that had been etched on with charcoal and painted in swatches of deep yellow. He watched her without speaking, for longer than was polite, the strain of her hip against her clothes grabbing his eyes so that he couldn’t look away, even if he knew he should. The drip of paint onto the floor was enough to prickle the skin on the back of his neck. He didn’t dare stay to drink anymore of her in, but he didn’t make a move to leave. This was intrusive, selfish, perverted. 

Who was he becoming? He’d always been so careful to be decent, before he’d met her. 

He swallowed, heat brimming like burst fruit behind his navel as she shifted her weight onto her other leg. He imagined her body bent low for him, her legs spread around his knee and her ass pressed up against his thighs. The image sent a shock of want into his groin, the strain of which immediately pulled his jeans taut. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of staying right where he was, watching her work. Enjoying her, the idea of being with her. As she sighed another cloud of smoke up into the air, her lean body stretched against the denim, showing off the sweet dip of her low back. He wet his lips. 

“Are you going to come in, Mike?”

His face flushed red with the shame of a child caught with candy he didn’t pay for. He should have gone back to his own studio. What had he even come over here for? What excuse had he invented? He couldn’t remember.

He watched her as she turned around to face him, her shoulders and chest bare beneath the straps of her dungarees. Paint had begun to drip down her exposed ribs, disappearing into the denim that barely covered her breasts. They were small, shapely and tan--at least what he could see of them. He could imagine the perfect fit of one in his hand, how she would mewl as he passed over her nipple with a warm thumb.

“Nan,” he said, his voice hoarse as he struggled to acknowledge her. He wasn’t sure if he had simply imagined the way her lips turned briefly upwards, her eyes boring into his like water into rock. 

“Can I help you with something--Mike?” 

Her voice was like dark glass. He imagined the husk of it in his ear, panting out small prayers as he touched the deepest places inside of her, as he made her cum and dear god why can’t I just stop thinking about the sex? He forced his mind to wander, and instead wondered to himself why she kept saying his name to him like that, realizing with further embarrassment that it was highly likely that she was making fun of him.

He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, trying to think of something practical to say. There was nothing. The truth may as well have been tattooed on his forehead, bright red and angry and easy for her to read: he’d made up some half-hearted excuse to wander over to her space in their shared studio when he really just wanted to look at her, and now he was caught red handed. Looking where he wasn’t invited. She watched him a while longer, stubbing her cigarette out on the tray of the easel that sat beside her.

“I--could I borrow your finishing spray?”

He wasn’t imagining it. Her lips had pulled up at the corners into a smile--no, a smirk. She flicked her gaze below his belt and back up into his eyes, her long, arched brows knitting together as if to say: is that really all you wanted? A small choking sound forced it’s way between his lips as he realized too little, too late that his massive erection was hardly discrete the way he was standing, raised to his full height and wearing one of his tightest pairs of jeans. 

“It’s not how it looks.”

But it was no use. She was already moving towards him, each step gentle and sensual like a cat on the hunt. Before he could manage to stammer out a plea for her to stop, to have mercy on him, her body was flush with his, the stiff, denim of her overalls rubbing against the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“You checking me out, art star?”

It was a low blow. Erwin had been calling him that for two weeks now, ever since his first solo gallery show at the Pace. He wondered how much she paid attention to him and to his life, his friends. His career. Did she think of him as often as he thought of her? The idea exhilarated him, drawing heavy breaths from his mouth. He looked into her eyes, clear and blue and offering up a challenge. 

His hands moved before his mind could suppress them. His left slid gently into the short, blonde strands of hair at the back of her neck; the other cupped the heart-shaped curve of her cheek, his thumb stroking across her lips as if he were soothing a wound. He tilted her face up gently towards his own, examining her small and delicate nose, the full, glistening pinkness of her mouth. 

“Well?”

It was the only encouragement he needed. Without further hesitation, he forced her mouth up to meet his, reveling in the taste of pomegranate chapstick that immediately flooded his tongue. She made a soft sound into the part between his lips, taking his lower one between her teeth and worrying it gently, suckling when the skin broke. The moan that escaped him was milked by clever hands--warm hands. Hands moving of their own accord down his back and twisting the cotton of his shirt into knots. He lifted his arms eagerly, allowing her to yank it up and off of him, tossing it aside like a rag into the mess of paint on the studio floor. His own hands explored, moving in a slow path down her shoulders, her spine, settling in that sweet dip of her low back.

He could feel the heat between her legs against his hardening cock. God, he’d daydreamed about this. About her, pressed tight against him. About her in these fucking overalls, her naked body beneath them. He wondered for just one moment if she’d been wearing them all this time just to tease him. The thought sent shocks between his thighs, and his hands moved immediately to dip beneath the chest pocket, cupping hungrily at the pert mounds of flesh beneath the denim. She mewled in response, arching against his body as he pressed one of her nipples between two fingers and massaged until it swelled with want between them. 

The paintbrush that had hung carelessly in her hand clattered finally to the floor, red paint spattering his cheek as he yanked impatiently at the buttons. The straps fell easily, exposing her breasts to him. He made a small ‘hmm’ of appreciation, which drew a shiver from her thin frame as he dipped his head low to take her other nipple into his mouth. He could feel her keening against him, and he worked the denim down her sides slow and teasing, pausing to squeeze her narrow hips between his large hands before shoving them down completely. 

Mike paused to appreciate this new canvas. Her tan body, completely exposed to him. He drank her in, from her shoulders which were broad, and her back which was muscular and toned, to her narrow waist and hips. She was fucking gorgeous, exactly how he’d imagined she might be in all the agonizing months he’d spent pining for her. He almost told her so, his lips parted to say it all when her hand dipped beneath the waist of his jeans. He let out a small, choked moan, tilting back his chin with green eyes squeezed tightly shut. The long hair that he’d tied into a knot at his neck began to come loose around his shoulders, yanked into her free fist as she worked his jeans off with her other hand. His hips began to thrust up towards her touch, and he moaned once more as he was rewarded with a long stroke of her hand along his swollen shaft. 

“Nan,” he gasped, his voice thick with lust and shaking with need. He thought he heard her chuckle low and deep, her nails digging into his nape as she guided him roughly to the plastic tarp on the floor, catching his mouth in another kiss, this one frantic and harsh. He landed with a thud on his back, paint squelching beneath his hot flesh as she broke the kiss and positioned herself comfortably on his hips. He grasped her ass in his palms, massaging the firm round of it between his fingers as she rolled against him, her wetness dripping like paint over his navel. It was too much for him. Frantic, he yanked her body forward, drawing a small yelp from her as his hands moved between the warmth of her thighs and began to tease. Her whimpers were enough to make him come. He struggled to restrain himself, his hips bucking off the floor in need. He pressed one finger and then the other inside of her, hands shaking as he gently searched for that place that would make her moan. She squeezed herself around him, her head rolling back as she bucked closer against his touch, hips thrusting into his hand. 

“Mike!”

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Desperate, he yanked his fingers from inside of her, positioning her thin body over his. She met his gaze as he teased her entrance with the head of his cock, her eyes glazed and heavy-lidded with lust. His closed as he slid into her, her body squeezing tight around him and drawing a long, blissful groan from deep within his abdomen. He waited for her to adjust as patiently as he could, stroking her cheek with his hand between gentle coos of you’re so fucking tight, fuck you’re tight, god baby you’re so--

She was moving before he could think, riding him frantically and erratically, her whole body rising and falling with heavy breath and the strain of clutching tight around each thrust of his cock. His hips moved to join her, the rhythm becoming steadily more and more disjointed as she fucked faster, crushing his mouth with her lips and yanking hard at his hair. A clatter in the corner suggested spilled paint, and the ooze of it beneath their legs confirmed it. He hardly noticed, so engrossed in her that it didn’t even occur to him what sort of mess they were making until she came, moaning his name with her head tilted back and her hands on his stomach, leaving trails of red and blue across the flesh. He sank his teeth into his lip as he bucked up for one final thrust, coming inside of her as she shuddered and clenched around him.

They lay there for a long time after, both struggling to catch their breath. His mind drifted--entranced in the swirl of color that trailed along the ceiling of her studio. Vivid yellows, blues, reds. Deep greens, soft whites. Salmons and cremes. She was incredible, so viciously talented that he wondered if she didn’t think him somewhat heavy-handed by comparison.

He didn’t notice her absence until he heard her light a cigarette. He looked up from his place on the floor, surprised to find her standing back at her place in front of her easel, wrapped tight in her dungarees, silver smoke drifting around her like hands grabbing at her flesh.

“The varnish is on the pink shelf,” she said, gesturing across the room. He nodded vaguely, scrambling up from the floor and gathering his clothes. She didn’t look at him as he dressed, nor did she pay any mind when he crossed the room and grabbed the unneeded varnish off the shelf. He turned it over in his hand, all flushed and fucked out, stealing small glances at her as he moved slowly towards the hall. He paused near the door, glancing over his shoulder to look at her fully. Her face was turned so that he could hardly make out her expression, her back to him the same way it had been when he’d come in, hoping to steal just a glimpse of the girl he was nearly certain he was completely in love with. Once again, the red brush hung lazily at her side, swinging in a small pendulum as she studied her canvas. 

He couldn’t be exactly sure of it, of course, but he swore as he finally turned to go that her lips had pulled briefly upwards into a smile, almost as if she were making fun of him.


End file.
